


Every Sour Second Rate Kiss

by JustJasper



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, College, Consent Issues, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There have been five times in Morgan's life when he could have had sex with a drunk person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Sour Second Rate Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as '5 times Morgan could have had sex with a drunk person and didn't, and the 1 time he did', but I couldn't make that last bit work with my headcanon for Morgan without it being hella angsty. So this fic is essentially '5 times Morgan could have had sex with a drunk person and didn't, and the one time he talked about it'. Thanks to Shelby for beta'ing! Title is from the Alkaline Trio song 'Crawl'.

The first time was when Morgan was at college. He wasn’t part of a frat, but the football team was very similar, and the two turned in the same circles. The football team didn’t even have to ask for an invite to the frat or sorority parties, and they attracted plenty of attention. Derek could thank both for the easy access to casual sex with partners who varied in discretion. It was July and it was hot, and the frat house that was hosting had a pool, which was getting plenty of use. Derek had arrived alone but there were several of his teammates there, people he considered friends.

The music pounded and drink flowed, though Morgan preferred to keep a clear head and after his first beer he switched to cola. He had a bit of a reputation, or at least his dancing did, and almost every girl at the party seemed to want a turn, and he was happy to oblige. Nobody held his attention though, not lately, when he’d found himself crushing on the girl that sat next to him in his Thursday morning class. Janae was smart and passionate, and cute with very red hair and a smattering of freckles and a nose piercing. They’d talked about the frat party in the last class, and made casual plans to see each other there.

“Hey dude!”

Morgan looked up to see one of the frat brothers waving for his attention. They moved away from the throng of dancers and bumped fists.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“Just getting my groove on.”

“Want to join the real party?”

“What?”

“Upstairs.”

“I don’t want no drugs, man,” Morgan said, holding up a hand.

“Not drugs,” he laughed, “just some fun. C’mon!”

More intrigued than anything, Morgan followed the frat brother through the house and up the stairs, where a few other frat boys and football players were loitering in the hall, chatting and drinking, all seeming to hum with excitement. Morgan was led past them all and into a bedroom.

It took his brain a moment to process the scene as the rest of the men waiting in the corridor peered around the door; the bedroom was lit only by a bedside lamp, and laying on the bed clearly unconscious was a woman. Morgan felt his stomach twist suddenly with the full realisation of what he’d just walked into. He cast his eyes back to the other gathered men and the expectant looks as they waited for his reaction, and tried to think fast.

“Can I have first go?” he asked, keeping his face straight despite the disgusted feeling that writhed in his gut. He needed to ask, because he needed to know if anything had already happened to her before he could put the plan that was forming in his head into action.

“Sure!” the first frat brother said, grinning.

Morgan fought the adrenaline of his fight-or-flight response as he crossed the room and gathered the girl up; she groaned, just conscious, and it was efficient rather than dignified when he balanced her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

“What the hell are you doing?” came the loudest of the objections as he made sure the girl’s skirt was covering her panties and that both her shoes were on; they weren’t, so he picked up the other from the bed.

“I’m taking her home.”

“Share and share alike, man!”

“ _Her_ home,” Derek barked. “What the hell is wrong with you? She’s unconscious, she can’t say yes to this!”

“Can’t say no, either!” someone said gleefully, to cheering. Holding the girl steady was the only reason he didn’t reach out and punch the closest one in the jaw.

“Get out of my way,” Morgan said firmly. Several looked like they might disagree, but Derek was a football player and respected for his formidable strength and skill, and they begrudgingly let him leave.

He ignored the looks he was getting as he headed back towards campus, and stopped at the first payphone he came across to put the girl’s shoe back on and call the police on the frat party, hoping to shut it down and prevent some other girl being taken advantage of in the same way. In the light of the booth with the girl resting unconscious against his chest, he recognised her by the bright red hair; he tilted her face up to make sure, confirming that it was Janae from his Thursday class. She blinked groggily at him, her green eyes unseeing.

He knew where she was housed, and took her back there. Her roommate flittered around worriedly as she helped him put her to bed, and didn’t object when Morgan wanted to sit outside their dorm door until she woke up so he could talk to her.

It was 5 AM and he was dozing when Janae opened the door, dressed in pyjamas, a robe and holding a cloth she was wiping off her makeup with, and beckoned him inside.

“She left a note,” she said quietly, nodding in the direction of her sleeping roommate. “Said you were outside and I should talk to you. The last thing I remember was being at the party.. did we...?” she suddenly looked worried, as if she was regretting letting him into her dormroom.

“No. You didn’t have sex with anybody.”

“What?” She looked confused, and Morgan knew he had to explain, but at the same time wished he could spare her the details. That wasn’t right, he knew, so he went on.

“You were blind drunk, and in one of the bedrooms. Some guys were gonna pull a train on you.”

It took a few seconds, and then she realised what he was implying and clapped a hand to her mouth. She started to cry, and tried to muffle the sound behind her hand.

“They didn’t do anything,” he said, but then frowned. “I don’t think. You had all your clothes on when I got there. They made it sound like nobody had done anything yet.”

“You were there? With them?” she asked in a hushed voice, backing up just a fraction.

“Not with them, one of them told me something was going on upstairs. I didn’t know it would be something like that.”

“You brought me home?”

“Yeah, I carried you.”

“I still had my clothes on?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she nodded, wiping at her eyes. “And I-” she met his eyes briefly, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “My tampon was still in when I woke up.”

He tried for what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“I can take you across town to a clinic in a few hours if you want. You can get checked out.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Thanks, Derek.”

A few weeks later when she began flirting more obviously with him in their class, Morgan found himself hesitant to respond, because he couldn’t shake the worry that she doing so in gratitude. The frats became suddenly hostile, and his team mates were off with him too. When he was left open to a tackle a few weeks later that resulted in a severe knee injury that would see him never play football again, he wasn’t that surprised, and didn’t regret his action for even a second.

\---

The second time was years later, when he was working as a police officer with the bomb squad. They met at a club and danced well into the night; she was petite and very curvy with dark brown skin and a head full of curls. One guy from work, out drinking with them, commented she was ‘barely a five’, and another one joked about Morgan ‘being into big girls now’. He ignored them, because they were striking out and she – Rhonda – was beautiful, all soft curves and ample bosom, with a confidence that manifested quite clearly.

He bought them drinks, and she seemed just a little surprised when he didn’t object when she insisted on buying the next lot. It was hard to talk in the club, but they communicated just fine through dancing, wandering hands and gyrating bodies in sync, blocking out everyone else.

He was buzzed when they left the club, but he didn’t realise she was quite a bit drunker until they got to her apartment and she stumbled up the stairs.

“Rhonda,” he said, leaning up against her doorway, “you’re wasted.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she slurred cheerfully, dropping her keys and having to set her feet wide to balance as she leant down to get them to stop herself toppling over. “C’mon, the night doesn’t have to be over yet.”

“Sorry baby, I think it is,” he said. She looked confused and a little disappointed, and so damn sexy and expressive. “How about I give you my number?”

“What, a fake number?” she said knowingly, waggling a pointed finger at him. “I know guys like you don’t go for women like me.”

“You don’t know no guys like me,” he grinned at her. “Hey, how about you give me your number, then? We can have this night another time, and if I don’t call I’m just another jerk, and you can do better, right?”

“I guess,” she smiled, fishing in her purse for a paper and pen. She scrawled her number and handed it to him. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Not long, beautiful.”

Less than a week later they met again, completely sober for a whirlwind night of passion.

\---

The third time, he was in Chicago visiting home. He’d chanced across one of his friends who was still with the police force, and Richard Troy had invited him around for beers while they watched a baseball game.

“So, is there anyone you’re leaving in DC to come here?” Troy asked coyly, taking a swig from his beer.

“What?”

“A girl, Morgan.”

“Aaah,” Morgan chuckled. “Not so much.”

“Still not settled down?”

“You know me, I’m not the settling down type.”

“They all say that, until they find someone special.”

Morgan laughed it off, but he was wondering if they’d found them already. Reid, of course, had no clue.

“How are you and your someone?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his own romantic life. Troy was always willing to talk about his girlfriend for hours.

“Janine?” Troy smiled sadly, and peered down at his beer. “We broke up a few weeks ago.”

“Oh man, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Troy took another drink. “She said she found someone else.”

“She cheated?”

“She said no, but I don’t know. I just didn’t see it coming, y’know?”

They talked, and they drank, their game on television serving as a handy distraction when they needed a break from talking. Morgan tried to use his experience of profiling to offer advice, because he’d never technically been in a committed relationship, so he couldn’t give any insight based on personal experience.

By the time they were slurring their words, they’d somehow ended up close together on the sofa. It probably shouldn’t have come as any surprised when Morgan found them kissing. Their beers were still clutched in their hands, and it was sloppy and uncoordinated.

“Troy,” Morgan said, pressing his hand against the other man’s broad chest. He could feel himself verging on panic; he’d never kissed another man before. It was surprisingly normal, but that could have been the alcohol’s influence.

“Morgan I need this.” The other man’s voice was deep and slightly needy.

“We’re drunk. We’re gonna rethink this in the morning.”

“Please Morgan.” Troy surged forward and caught Morgan’s mouth, kissing him again.

“C’mon dude,” Morgan said gently, and grabbed the man’s shoulder in a firm hold. “Stop this.”

“I’m sorry,” Troy mumbled, jolting back. “I’m not gay, I’m not-”

“It’s okay, dude. It’s no big deal, but we’re just drunk. Too drunk to be making out on your couch like teenagers.”

Troy groaned and flopped back, and then laughed.

“Sorry, bro. This breakup must be getting to me worse than I thought.”

“You love her. It’s understandable,” Morgan offered kindly. “We better quit drinking before we get really stupid, though.”

“Yeah.”

\---

On the fourth time Reid’s mouth tasted of wine and summer fruits. He was responsive and aroused, pushing his groin into Morgan’s as he sat astride his hips, hands roaming the other man’s torso. It had been a long week, a long case, and finally being able to spend time together had resulted in wine and food and an indulgence in both.

They were more social drinkers, but the bottles of wine at the back of the fridge had seemed too tempting to them after such a stressful week, and alcohol had quickly loosened them. Enough so that Reid was pressing their clothed bodies together and practically riding Morgan, who clutched his thin hips in his hands.

“We gonna have sex?” Reid breathed, snaking his hand down and cupping Morgan through his trousers. Morgan couldn’t help pressing up into the warm palm, but dragged his lips away from Reid’s neck.

“I’m drunk.”

“You’re sexy,” Reid countered.

“You’re drunk too.”

“That’s okay, you’re hard and so am I.”

“Baby I love you,” Morgan murmured, kissing the man’s jaw, “but you’re really drunk.”

“I’m really aroused. Horny, Derek. I’m horny.”

Slightly amused at the word choice, Morgan kissed his mouth and pulled away. “Too drunk, baby.”

“I’m not,” Reid whined. “I’m consenting. Want you. Want it in me. Your penis, I mean.” Reid giggled. “Penis.”

“Nuh-uh,” Morgan murmured. “No sexy stuff. Let’s just go to bed.”

“But I wanna!” Reid whined in an exaggeratedly childish tone, which made Morgan laugh again.

“C’mon.”

“Want it.” Reid reached between them and grabbed Morgan’s erection through his jeans. “You want it too, Derek.”

Derek felt his chest tighten, and his body stiffened as he pulled away from Reid. “I don’t,” he said in an uncharacteristically small voice. He couldn’t stop the memory playing, those words being said to him by a man three times his size as his cheeks burned with shame at his unwelcome and unwanted erection.

 Spencer, through the fuzz of intoxication released him and frowned. “I shouldn’t- oh, fuck.” He dropped his head against Morgan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m drunk, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek said, though it didn’t feel okay. He felt suddenly unsafe and like he wanted to push Reid out of his lap and get as far away from intimate contact as he could, but he didn’t. Reid moved soon after, unable to look Morgan in the eyes.

“The couch,” he said, unsteady on his feet. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No.” Morgan got up, and held out his hand. “I want you to sleep in our bed. Let’s just go to bed and sleep it off.”

Reid took the offered hand and squeezed.

\---

On the fifth time, Reid was spread out on the bed, drunk and giggling and hazy-eyed. Spencer was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen; he knew he wasn’t exactly objective, but it was true. He was all long lines and sharp angles, and sparing curves that were truly appreciated. Like this he didn’t look cute or peaceful though, but vulnerable to Morgan’s eyes. There was none of his energy or awareness, no animated hand-talking or posture of deep thought.

It was just as the man had described when he’d confessed a sexual fantasy to Morgan. Reid had mentioned somnophilia for its similarity, but described a scenario where he was very intoxicated and Morgan took the lead at initiating sex. He’d detailed it rather matter-of-factly, from stripping him and touching him, his compromised ability to interact in his drunken state, to waking up the next day to find Morgan’s semen inside him. Morgan had been wary and Reid hadn’t pushed, explaining it was just a fantasy, and not something he required. After a few days Morgan told him they could try it, under their previous assertion they’d give most things a try at least once.

He tried to ignore the knot in his stomach as he unbuttoned Reid’s fly and slipped his hand below; his lover lifted his hips lazily, already half-hard. His eyes were slits, unfocused and the silly grin on his face was one of utter drunkenness. The man tried to lift a hand to Morgan neck, but it seemed heavy and he couldn’t manage it.

“Spencer?” he prompted gently, feeling the man respond physically under his palm.

“Uh huh,” he managed, and then, “ivarreaulligotanuhrecshun...”

Morgan balked. Even when he was drunk Reid was talkative; the fact he couldn’t string a few words together proved how intoxicated he was. He withdrew the hand, feeling a little sick that he’d even thought this could be a good idea. Reid was too far gone to protest, and settled down quietly as Morgan tucked him into bed. He made to crawl in beside him but felt another sickly jolt and hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall to the spare room where he flopped down onto cold sheets, feeling miserable.

Sleep didn’t come easily, as he ran over and over in his mind every scenario; from the fantasy playing out perfectly, to Reid coming-to halfway through and screaming at him to stop, to Reid waking up in the morning to the realisation of what had happened and beginning to cry because it was not what he wanted.

When he woke up it was because of sunlight, and he fuzzily reminded himself to put the blinds up in the spare room later that day. It took him several minutes to notice that Reid was sat on the bed beside where he was curled up, with a mug of tea in his hands and another on the bedside table.

“I’m sorry,” Reid said immediately, looking sadly at Morgan.

“Huh?” Morgan pushed himself up onto an elbow, trying not to dislodge the warm blankets yet.

“I shouldn’t have asked for it. And you should have told me you weren’t okay with it,” he added, trying and failing to sound angry, shoulders slumping. “I knew you weren’t okay with it. You wouldn’t have slept in here if it had just not worked... I think maybe I knew even before you weren’t okay with it, but my desire to potentially fulfil a sexual fantasy was selfish. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing happened,” Morgan said, and then shook his head a little and corrected himself. “Well, I got my hand in your pants, but you were so out of it, baby. I know you said before how much you wanted it, but I’m not sure you could remember your name last night, let alone let me know if you’d changed your mind.”

“I’m not sure what part of the fantasy I actually wanted. I feel rough this morning, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to wake up into some sort of post-coital bliss. I didn’t account for a hangover and a raging headache.”

“You know I want to fulfil your fantasies, baby,” Morgan said, lifting the covers. Reid got the idea and slipped in next to him, while Morgan sat up and retrieved the other mug. “But I can’t do something where I can’t be sure you want it. I can’t do it when you’re intoxicated.”

They sat together in bed, drinking their tea in the quiet. Tea meant soothing, on a day they didn’t have to work.

“The other week,” Reid started, “when we got drunk on those bottles of wine...” He took another sip of his tea, clearly composing himself. “Did Buford get you drunk?”

“Yeah,” Morgan nodded, his chest tightening and then releasing. “He did. Wine, port, brandy. Classy stuff. Stuff that impressed eleven year old me. No cans of cheap beer that I saw older kids drinking when one of them managed to score some. A shot of whiskey does a hell of a lot to a kid, and the drunker I was the harder it was to say no, when he was so encouraging. And I was scared of the power he had, I guess. Letting him get me drunk made it easier to say yes even though I really wanted it to stop. I guess then I thought anything I said when I was drunk didn’t count because people aren’t themselves when they’re drunk, right? So maybe it wasn’t really me letting him do that to me, it was drunk-me.”

Morgan let his gaze wander around the spare room as he nursed his tea, and he felt Reid’s eyes on him.

“Baby, the idea that you might only say yes to something because you’re drunk honestly scares the crap out of me. I know people can still make rational choices when they’re drinking, and I know we’ve had sex after a couple of drinks, but after a point it gets into territory I can’t go into. That’s what it was like the other week.”

“I’m ashamed of myself,” Reid said softly. “For what happened the other week; grabbing you. For not saying anything the morning after, and then for pushing this drunk sex thing. It shouldn’t have had to go this far for me to realise it wasn’t that I wanted.”

“Sometimes these things happen, I guess,” Morgan sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.” Morgan smiled over his cup at his lover, who returned it, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Baby, it is okay. It will be. Maybe we should just stay away from the booze for a while until we figure out if there’s something more to this all.”

“More to it?”

“Well, you were fantasising about the scenario where you were drunk, maybe there are elements of that we could explore. Without the drinking.”

“I love you,” Reid said, wiggling down a little, and leaning against Morgan’s chest.

“Love you too,” Morgan murmured as he accommodated and kissed the top of Reid’s head. The memory of the night before was still in his mind, the thought of how close he’d come to sexually interacting with his boyfriend while he was blind drunk gave him a bitter taste in the back of his throat. He would never let that happen again.


End file.
